Watch It Blow Over
by RenaRoo
Summary: [Season 11] Washington has gotten used to the nightly storms in the jungle, but not everyone has.


Anonymous prompted: Tucker/Wash 10 Maybe the thunder and/or lightning triggers them and causing them to both have breakdowns due to ptsd. Sorta a hurt then comfort thing at the end?

A/N: I DESPERATELY needed an excuse to revisit the Chorus era so thank you so much, anon!

Red vs Blue and associated characters © Rooster Teeth

 **Watch It Blow Over**

Weather on a new planet was always a bit unpredictable.

It was difficult to peg the climate and even more precarious to judge the intensity of the weather before first experiencing it oneself. And not knowing what planet they were even on after the crash wasn't exactly productive in helping to determine things. They were stranded in what appeared to be some sort of tropical-like location but the jungles surrounding them did not give way to any major waterways that often pierced through the center of such places on Earth.

Then again, Washington had yet to have a successful scouting mission because the Reds and Blues were a bit like the gang of kids from _Scooby-Doo_ and any degree of separation or dividing up the group was almost certainly bound for a real disaster.

Caboose had already almost been strangled by vines _twice_ since they landed. And as far as Washington could tell, the jungle they were marooned in didn't really have that type of flora _to_ be strangled with in the first place.

So the first night it rained, Washington wasn't sure what to expect.

The second night it rained, an odd coincidence was unfolding before him.

After a week, it was clear that it was going to pour rain every night and Washington was going to have to hear Red Team complain about the stupid tarp over their base until the day they all died of either starvation or from strangling each other with the mysterious vines Caboose kept finding.

One way or the other, Washington had resigned himself to the strange weather though so he wasn't surprised when, on night eleven of his perpetual hell in the middle of an uninhabited jungle, he was laying on his makeshift cot and listening to the anger of the clouds above them.

His already unenviably little amount of rest, however, was interrupted by a rapping of knuckles on his door. Less forceful and clumsy than what Washington had come to expect, but expected all the same.

"No, Caboose, it's not a dragon. Just thunder," Washington said without opening his eyes or even really moving from his cot.

There was a bit of awkward silence in response, which told Washington everything about this interruption _not_ being from Caboose whose idea of quietly sneaking involved a chant of _sneaking sneaking sneaking._

By the time Washington opened his eyes and began to turn toward the door of his so-called room, a voice cleared and Tucker replied somewhat timidly, "Gee, thanks. I'll keep that in mind next time I need, y'know, something smug and unhelpful in my ear."

A bit surprised, Wash turned over on his side and looked toward the silhouette in his doorway before fully sitting up. He knew it was Tucker, but it didn't make the fact of it being Tucker any less surprising.

Especially after his third leg day. Usually Tucker didn't talk to him in anything but expletives at that point in the week.

"Tucker?" Wash asked, still perplexed.

"Real observant, aren't ya, Wash?" Tucker snarked flatly.

There was probably more to the statement but the moment the words left his mouth, Tucker was met with a thunderous sound that shook the entirety of their makeshift base. It wasn't much different than the other times the nightly storms grew with an upswell of wind and became noisy. Washington had hardly come to notice it after the _first_ night it shook his walls.

But Tucker didn't react like it was a near nightly occurrence.

His eyes widened enough that Washington could see the dilation from across his dark room. At the noise, Tucker flinched. And when the vibrations rippled through their broken, sad excuse for a home, Tucker stepped forward into the room — not just a single step but quite a few feet. Far enough that he was not able to cling to the edges of the doorway anymore.

It was more than a bit concerning.

"Tucker? Are you alright?" Washington asked in concern.

"I'm fucking _fantastic_ , way to notice," Tucker said, voice a bit hoarse.

"I… see…" Wash responded lowly, turning enough to swing his legs over the edge of his cot. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why would there be anything wrong? Fuck, Wash," Tucker demanded defensively, beginning to wrap his arms around himself while looking warily toward the ceiling.

Washington reached deep down inside of himself and pulled what was remaining of his very, _very_ limited patience. He and Tucker yelled and screamed at each other constantly. It was good for getting Tucker pissed enough at him to push through workouts for pure spite. And for getting out some pent up annoyance out of Wash's system.

But it wasn't conducive for talking. And whether or not that was what Tucker was _helping_ happen, it obviously was what he came in there for.

"Sorry. That's my bad for making an assumption," Wash offered. "Did the storm wake you up? It's… pretty noisy tonight."

At the mention of the storm, Tucker's shoulders eased up and he seemed to breathe easier. There was a sudden release of tension just from having the subject breeched by someone else instead of having to bring it up. But it wasn't enough.

"It's a fucking nightmare out there," Tucker said lowly, seemingly not acknowledging that it was fairly common for the jungle as they knew it.

"I guess so," Wash continued. "Makes it hard to sleep."

"Sleep?" Tucker forced out with a strained laugh. "How can anyone sleep like _this?_ Like… like…"

Carefully, Washington leaned in, maintaining eye contact with Tucker to let him know that everything was being taken seriously, that everything was fine. That Tucker could tell Wash what was wrong.

When it was obvious that it was up to him to fill the silence, Tucker stepped in closer to the center of the room. He was still holding himself tightly, tight enough his knuckles were whitening.

"Like the whole place is falling apart… like… like we're tearing apart and just… getting ready to crash… crash right into… right somewhere… crazy and fucking stormy…"

"It's not a great place to sleep," Washington offered kindly.

"No, it's really not," Tucker answered hollowly. "I… I know you said you were in a shipwreck before… but… I mean. How? How it's so fucking…"

"Terrifying," Washington completed for him.

"How are you able to sleep?" Tucker asked lowly.

Despite himself and despite his absolute best efforts, Washington began to laugh, laugh ridiculously loud boisterous. "Tucker. I never sleep. I wasn't even really asleep when you came in here and—" he stopped when he noticed the strained look Tucker was giving him. "And…. that's not helpful at all, is it?"

"Fuck no," Tucker answered. Then, however small, the corners of his lips attempted something of a smile. "Man. You really suck at the whole comforting thing of leadership."

"Huh," Washington tilted his head. "I suppose I do. Any pointers?"

"Dude, no, the only leaders I've really known were Church and Sarge. And they sucked at this," Tucker shrugged. "I… wow, it's really dumb that I came in here. I'm a _father_ and I came in here and… well…"

"It's a pretty bad storm tonight," Washington offered. "My room's a little better off than yours still, we could switch if it'll help you sleep."

"Yeah, and then I'll be _not sleeping_ and thinking of _fiery crashy death_ in here instead of in there. Thanks, fearless leader," Tucker huffed.

"Well, what would you rather we do?" Washington asked, but by the first word Tucker was already on the move.

Shuffling like a child, Tucker made it over to the cot and, without taking his arms from around himself, nudged Wash over some with his hip, and then scrambled knees first onto the honestly fairly small cot.

Washington blinked a few times, perplexed, and then glanced toward the doorway. "Okay, so we _are_ switching rooms?"

"Oh my god, you're so fucking…. _No,_ Wash. I'm not going to kick you out of your room. I'm not a monster," Tucker snapped.

Still confused, Washington stared over his shoulder at Tucker for a few moments before taking the hint.

With a sigh, Washington carefully shifted himself back into the cot. He was mindful of the creaking _and_ of how off center Tucker's splayed out form was despite being the one from outside the norm.

He eased into his cot, back to back with Tucker and laid back down, his legs all but hanging off the edge save for the way his toes balanced on the edge of the cot.

A part of Washington was fully prepared to be annoyed as hell but, almost despite himself, a smile poached its way onto his lips.

The storm seemed further away after that, ad it apparently felt that way for Tucker, too, as he soon began to softly breathe through snores and quiet rocks of his body that eventually eased Wash further back onto his cot.

In the morning, Washington let Tucker sleep in longer than usual, and the other marine never mentioned it again. But Washington thought back on the moment long after circumstances tore them apart again and Washington needed desperately to remind himself that, like the storm that night, it would all blow over and they would have each other's back again soon.


End file.
